


Tf2 Cinderella AU

by aimasup



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: 17th century stuff, Cinderella - Freeform, Cinderella AU, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, I am actually, It's also Demo x Solly centric and I'm not sorry, Kilts, M/M, Swearing, This is not a 17th century AU this is a Cinderella AU all the roles have to be suitable, fairy tale AU, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 12:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18165239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimasup/pseuds/aimasup
Summary: Once upon a time, an overworked self-proclaimed black Scottish cyclops never wanted to go to the fucking ball, but he does anyway. What maaaagical things will happen, no one knows.Demoman x Soldier fic.





	1. Chapter 1

Tavish Finnegan Degroot grumbled as he hitched up his kilt, ready to set off on yet another job hunt.

It wasn’t that he was some unemployed, wasted sleaze. It was that his mother kept on and on about laziness and family names all the time. Never mind that they lived in a bloody mansion.

“Three jobs? Three jobs ain’t nearly enough, Tavish! Yer father had twenty-six jobs, and lost both eyes when he was just a wee lad! Look at ye, yer nearly thirty-five years and ye still have one in yer drunken head!”

“Mum, we have enough money tae buy half o’ England.”

“It’s not about money, lad, how many times shall I repeat meself? As a Degroot, ye oughta keep yerself up n’ working all hours! And now yer just sittin’ here, drinkin’ yer arse off yet again!”

It was true that Tavish wasn’t the best example of someone who worked three jobs. But hell, he needed some way to feel better about the shite country his mum brought him to live in called America. Scotland was perfectly fine, thank you very much. 

So here he was, getting ready for another day. His mum was blinder than a bat, but she still stood, facing the doorway where her son was. Her temper, her trusty walking cane and her keen sense of, well, everything else, made for dangerous weapons that Tavish daren’t be on the receiving end of, but he still snagged a few bottles of scrumpy on the way out.  
As soon as he waved his mum goodbye, he strode off to the local bar because fuck it. Those frilly employers that give him a hard time for his background can go eat ass, he thought.

On his way through the merry blue sky, the beautiful carriages, the wonderful town square and those judgmental stares lovingly dished out by rude townsfolk, Tavish whistled to himself.  
“Lovely day for it!” He called to a shopkeeper he knew well.

“Well, well! If it ain’t the man of the hour!” Dell Conagher grinned and took his left hand off of whatever he was tinkering with long enough to tip his hat in greeting.

Dell was a good lad. He was a down-to-earth, hardworking Southerner who was way ahead of his time with his natural genius talent. Some folks’ small-mindedness and a side of nasty stories about his machine right hand kept people from his workshop, however, even though he made a living off of helping others with their technical problems.  
Under that polite, humble façade was a psychotic curiosity that killed its fair share of metaphorical cats. There was a reason Tavish worked with the man.

He smiled back and suddenly remembered a little project he had going on in the workshop. “Ah, Dell? I was on me way to the bar just now, but d’ya mind if I work around the clock instead?”

“Go right on, partner.”

As the inventor returned to his device, Tavish headed to the back of the shop and pulled aside some tattered curtains that lead to his work spot. 

“Mmmphf!”  
A small, masked man in a hood popped up in front of him in a mock jumpscare. Tavish started a little before laughing.

‘Pyro’ was what Dell had decided to call them, since literally no one knew anything about the childlike person. They were best friends under the fact that they were basically living embodiments of defiance towards society’s expectations, as was Tavish.

Pyro gave Tavish a squeezing hug before turning their head towards Dell at the front.  
“Hmmfph mmfh mmfn mh mfh?”

Dell stopped his work and turned back to face him. Somehow he was the only one who could decipher those mumbles.  
“Huh? Told him what, Py?”

Pyro made nonsensical gestures along with more muffled speech, as if that helped matters for the only one who didn’t speak Pyronese in the room.

“Oh.” Dell shrugged. “Guess I haven’t.”

Tavish grunted and looked between the two. “What is it? Stop playin’ charades and tell me what’s actually going on.” He had to carefully filter his words in case he let loose some inappropriate vocabulary in front of Pyro and deal with Dell’s wrath as a result.

Dell was wiping his hands off with an oil-stained cloth. “Well you see, Tav. Word’s been going around that the royals are gonna throw a ball. Tonight. Since the Queen ain’t gonna last forever, they’re try’na use this as an excuse to find their prince a suitor.”

Tavish raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And, Tav, they ain’t just invitin’ all the ladies. They’re inviting anyone they can. Queen Helen ain’t exactly the partying type, so her captain of the royal guard convinced her that this once-in-a-while ball should go on with a bang.”

Dell caught on to Tavish’s ‘I-dunnae-give-a-fuck’ look and sighed. “Just sayin’ that you could use some rest every now and then, partner. Ease up a bit, ya know? All those jobs can’t be doing much for nothin’ ‘xcept for exhaustion.” 

Tavish thought on this for a moment. “I’ll consider it,” he settled on, even though his mind was made up. Alcohol at home all night for him.

Dell stepped a little closer to Tavish.

“Py an’ I really hope you’re comin’, pal. Even if you wanna work some more, well, you can’t.” 

Tavish had a celebratory screaming fit inwardly.

“All the shops will be closin’ up, includin’ this one. So you might as well go home early an’ get ready.”

A steam whistle high up on a wall blew and Pyro bounded across the room onto a worn-out chair to turn it off. Dell look at the clock invention.

“Whoa now, noon already?” He gave Tavish’s shoulder a soft squeeze with his left hand. “We better get going, partner, each our separate ways. I’d invite you to lunch, but Py insists we prepare for the ball early.”

Pyro was sitting on the chair, the backrest in between their legs, arms relaxing on the top rail, listening to the conversation. They gave a double thumbs-up when Tavish turned to them upon hearing their name.

“Ach, well, can’t argue with that.”

Tavish walked out of the workshop, taking all the necessary parts of his project with him and bidding the two goodbye. As it was noon, it meant lunch time for a variety of workers and business hours for the others. In the bars and cafes, coal-mine workers and their friends chattered and drank. Farmers and merchants did their trading by the sides of the cobblestone roads. After getting a fresh pastry from a baker, Tavish headed back.

However, as he neared his house, he slowed down at what was before him.

Some loud-mouthed royal messenger was bickering at the doorstep with his mother. From a distance, he observed the both of them, eating his pastry innocently like he was watching a theatre show.

“I’m telling ya, woman, I’m not makin’ this up! There _is_ a party goin’ on tonight, an’ Her Majesty _will_ have my head if ya don’t believe me and come!”

“Well then where’s the letter, lad?” A thwack as Madam Degroot’s cane connected with its target. “I won’t have no hooligans showing up at me house and telling naughty stories!”

“This ain’t a story! I just – I lost the letter!”

The Bostonian messenger looked helplessly to his partner on this specific mission, and the lean man replied exasperatedly, “Bloody hell, mate, you lost it?!”

Tavish almost choked on the last of his pastry. That twig on the horse was Australian? The absence of the moustache and extra four hundred pounds of beefy muscle didn’t exactly make that a good guess.

The smaller man turned back to Mrs. Degroot, “Look, I—“

Another thwack. “I dunnae care if yer actually the royal whatever, laddie! No one interrupts me nap time!”

Tavish winced. Alright, time to step in. A long swig from his bottle was taken before he strode over hurriedly.

The argument had shifted on over to the Aussie on the horse, ending up in all three of them verbally going at it loudly on the street. A few people stopped and stared, some whispering.

He took his mum’s hand and led her inside, but not before she grabbed at his wrist quick as lightning, her other hand patting up his arm and all over his face. “Tavish? Tavish is that you?” She pulled him close to her side and pointed northeast from where the messenger actually was with her cane. “You’re here, now tell this damned hooligan to—“

Alright, this was creating an awkward scenario in front of the royal workers. Tavish wriggled out of his old mum’s iron grip and said,” Mum! There actually is some ball happenin’ tonight! I saw the letter from a friend! Now stop worryin’ the poor lads!”

Madam Degroot glanced to her left and glared, except she seemed to have forgotten that the two men were in front of her. The messenger was checking his face bruises, moaning something about good looks and bodyguard incompetence. The guy on the horse just rolled his eyes while polishing a weapon.

Tavish turned towards them and apologized, sending them on their way with some extra bottles of scrumpy and hoped that his mum didn’t just earn them an arrest warrant.

\------------------------------------

Surprising to no one, Madam Degroot did not share her son’s point of view on the issue.

“I dunnae care, lad! You’re going, like it or not!”

“MUM I SAID I DUNNAE WANNA.”


	2. Chapter 2

Queen Helen drank more wine, wishing with all her heart that she would drop dead before tonight. Or that everyone else would.

Decades ago, handmaiden Elizabeth had risen to claim the throne of a part of the kingdom that the original king had left her and his two sons before he passed. Without a prince and not wanting one, she had sought for a trial of tests that only one could go through with and become heir to the throne as result. Helen was the most recent one to win.

That was years ago, when she was a graceful young woman. Now, she sat morosely on her throne, watching over a kingdom full of morons while she wasted herself away with wine faster than her age would.

The one person who kept her sane was Edith Pauling, her loyal advisor and voice of reason….and unfortunately, ethicalness as well. 

Bored and done with existence, she decided to check on statuses. 

“Pauling.”

The young woman who stood by her side jumped, cautiously glancing at her while bowing her head slightly. “Y-yes, your Majesty?” While Pauling could be as professional and empowering as possible when speaking to anyone else, she was still wary of the dangerous woman she had come to work for. 

“Where is my captain of the royal guard?”

“Captain Hale is still fighting his stress bear, your Majesty.”

“My doctor?”

“Doctor Ludwig is tending to his birds. He has finished with his duties for today, all done in usual quality. He is also in wanting of more test subjects. Currently, your best soldier is having a chat with him.”

“Which one is that?”

“Mikhail from Russia, your Majesty.”

“Hm. And my spy?”

“He’s doing an excellent job as a butler. He’s even managed to balance both duties perfectly; the quality of his spy work has not been hindered by his caretaking of the prince.” A short silence, then Pauling remembered what she was forgetting. “Uh, your Majesty.”

Helen took no notice of this. While she wasn’t in the least interested in the festivities and luxurious flashiness that many, many rulers seemed to hold in high regard, she also couldn’t care less to rule with an iron fist. A tighter ship just needed to be reinforced.

“How are the two men I sent out for the invitations?”

“Your messenger, Jeremy, and your hit-man, Mundy have just arrived with minor injuries. I will ask them of the invitations later. For now, Jeremy shall be tended to and Mundy will return to his duties.”

The queen processed this information stoically, gave a nod of acknowledgement, and took a deep sip of wine. Then, she inhaled, preparing herself mentally for the question she was about to ask.

“How…..is….. _the prince_.” She managed through gritted teeth.

Poor Felicia Pauling mistook this as displeasure at her previous status reports and paled. “He….well….”

A loud crash sounded from outside. Before either of the women could react, the doors to the throne room were blown off their hinges and into splintered wood, practically creating an earthquake. Pauling squeaked.

Dust cleared to reveal Saxton Hale and Jane Doe in the middle of the room, both wrestling a bear that must’ve eaten a house at some point in its life, it was so large. The men had both gone and gotten their lovely uniforms and clothing ripped and dirtied.

Pauling looked as if she were going to faint for a number of reasons, while Helen watched them tear about her throne room with the interest that one holds when watching paint dry.

“ _Sacre beau!"_ came an angry yell. Right on cue, a man clad in a personally-styled mask and an outfit worth more than half of Tuefort's nearby village ran and tripped in on a trail of rubble and blood. He composed himself as soon as that happened, unwilling to be seen in such an undignified stance by the Queen.

Spy stood up straight and controlled his breathing.

“Your Majesty,” he began, but before he could finish, the mess of bear and man roared past him like a ball of lightning, creating more destruction. He tried not to let his despair show. “And her royal advisor.”

He drew his knife, eyeing the chaos. “Don’t worry, I’ll get this under control, I just need to hit the right spots—“

_CRACK._

A snap of the neck, and the bear fell, dead. Spy only grimaced a little, but internally he wished for a beheading of the two brutes and himself. Pauling’s face was stark white. Helen was still drinking wine.

Captain Hale stood up straight, dusting himself off and grinning. “Well now, Jane! I didn’t expect you to be up for this, but look who dealt the finishing blow!”

Jane Doe gave a bark of laughter. “Hah! Naturally, comrade! What, d’ya think those prissy prince duties would be the boundaries to my unfounded power?”

He turned around. “Oh, hello Queen Helen!” He gave a friendly wave. Captain Hale at least had the decency to salute.

“On any other day I would have the both of you beheaded with a butter knife after taking your tongues out. But since tonight unfortunately requires your presences, you’ll just have to stay alive until the next time you both destroy my property. Again.”

According to tradition of Elizabeth’s way of nominating royalty without a partner, anyone who could prove themselves worthy would be the prince or princess.

Somehow, _somehow_ , they had ended up with this army-obsessed idiot who lived at the side of the road and smelled of raccoons. They weren’t even expecting a man when the name ‘Jane Doe’ came out first in the results.

In order to prevent this from happening again, they had to go back to the marrying tradition, but Helen was not going to go get a king and have kids. So, they had to instead marry Jane off to a wealthy girl and pray for her sanity. God help whoever was unlucky enough to end up with him.

Then again, more than half her entire disorganized mess of a court was composed of loony defects.

Helen sighed. “Spy, take the prince back to his quarters and get him prepared for tonight.” She still felt frustrated that she didn’t know the masked man’s real name.

Said masked man responded with a,” Yes, your Majesty,” and dragged Jane out of the room.

“And Captain Hale, you will get this corpse out of here and fix the throne room yourself. It must be done by tonight. Or else.”

Pauling stepped down and handed Captain Hale a small cloth bag full of glowing, yellow powder. “Some extra Australium in case you need it.” Then she walked back up the steps to guide Helen back to her quarters.

As the two women shuffled away, Hale looked around the dirty, destroyed space. Then he looked back to the bag in his hands, shrugged, threw it away and got to work.

\------------------------------------

The sky was getting dark. Carriages of all sorts set off, carrying finely dressed women and men alike. Excitement was in the air all round the town square.

Tavish waved him mum goodbye and wished her a good night as she set off in a carriage that they hired. 

“And keep the house clean, aye? Don’t drink so much wine!” her fading voice yelled back at him as she was rushed off into the distance. Tavish worried that she might fall out of the carriage, with how she was leaning out like that.

The moment she disappeared, he closed the door and blew out all the candles. Then he carried some full bottles out into the backyard, ready to spend the night there. The house was nice, but the cool breeze on his skin and the soft light of the moon and stars were even better.

He sat down on the grass, cross-legged, and drank the first of his scrumpy.

Peaceful and quiet. 

“ _BOOOOOOMM!!"_

A loud burst of green energy and someone yelling ‘boom’ out loud scared Tavish into actually screaming. When the brightness and smoke died down, he could just make out a levitating silhouette in front of him.

“What the bloody hell-“

“ _GREETINGS, COMMONER! IT IS I, MERASMUS, YOUR FAIRY GODFATHER!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whooooooo


	3. Chapter 3

Tavish’s eye was still wider than a dinner plate. His heart was still beating as fast as it could. What the hell is a fairy godfather? Since when did he have one? And why does said godfather have an animal skull on his head, no bombs and both eyes?

His eyes darted towards his bottles. No, he reasoned. He was only the first sip into his stash. It usually took a lot more than that to get him drunk, let alone hallucinating.

‘Merasmus’ eyed Tavish who was on the ground, surrounded by alcohol bottles and clearly not buying it.

_“Fine, I’m not magically or cosmetically related to you in any way. But fear not! I am still here to get you to that ball!”_

Tavish was going to actually faint. He had so many questions; everything this man said was insane. Was there some kind of wizard service to make sure everyone attended this stupid ball or something?

He resisted the urge to break the bottom half of his bottle and wield it as a weapon. Instead, he swallowed and got up. “Who……who are ye then?”

Merasmus’ theatrics really bothered him, accentuating every sentence with flamboyant gestures. _“Ah, but that is a sad story, my half-witted friend!”_

_“You see, I used to be the prince’s royal magician! But because the royal court couldn’t handle my overwhelming magic, they sent me away, and the prince was the first to agree!”_

Tavish had a feeling that there was another side to the story.

“That’s uh, real tragic, lad. But uh, don’t ye think that you could mourn another night and….not send me to the ball? I dunnae really want to go. At all. What’s your tale even have to do with this whole business?”

_“Nonsense! You will go! There will be royal alcohol and food finer than anyone’s seen before!”_

Well then, Tavish was convinced. No one told him about that part. He shrugged, deciding to go. “Aye, ye put up a better argument than me mum.”

_“Excellent! Now, you need a change in attire. And transportation! All will be provided by me.”_

Tavish blinked. “Wow, that’s…..really nice o’ ye, actually.”

_“Sending a mess such as yourself to the ball will surely be the perfect revenge on the prince!”_

Tavish’s face fell. There it was.

 _“Let the transformation commence!”_ Merasmus jerked a bony finger towards him. _“You! Get me a pumpkin!”_

“……a pumpkin.”

_“The biggest one you can find, moron! I don’t have all night!”_

The Scotsman grunted and jogged off to his neighbor’s house to get the orange vegetable. They didn’t actually have any pumpkins in the house. After some pumpkin theft, he came back and dumped it on the grass in front of him. He was going to consume everything edible and alcoholic at the ball once he got there.

Merasmus inhaled and waggled his fingers at the pumpkin, chanting some ancient words in a whispery sort of voice. Tavish felt the entirety of the atmosphere shift. He nervously took another swig of scrumpy, waiting it out.

 _“………azarath men volaso geNMBA!”_ The wizard yelled out that last bit, both arms jerking outwards and his head tossing upwards.

Nothing happened.

Merasmus stayed put. Tavish waited some more, then sighed. “Look, I appreciate you doin’ this, but-“

Another explosion cut him off. Nothing flew anywhere and it wasn’t particularly destructive, but it still knocked Tavish to the ground violently. A bright orange light made him squeeze his eye shut and a ringing sound hung in his ears.

When everything stopped being an overwhelming force to his senses, he groaned and opened his eye, wondering what fresh hell the wizard decided to dish out now.

A grand-looking black and green carriage sat sparkling where the pumpkin once was, gold decorations garnishing the thing perfectly. It still looked like a pumpkin.

His outfit had been upgraded a lot, following a red, green, gold and black theme. He swore that his kilt was now practically shining, as was his shoes. At least the wizard kept the Scottish attire for him.

Merasmus dropped his stance and cackled. _“Watch your words, peasant! Never underestimate a magician.”_

Tavish was about to reply when he noticed half a dozen horsemen sitting picture-perfectly atop another half a dozen horses. All of them wore a monotonous expression and had a certain all-too familiar color scheme. Tavish also noticed his missing bottles and his eye widened.

“What the – who are these bloody people?!”

Merasmus looked at him curiously, then shrugged. _“Oh, those. You have to make do with what you can, you know.”_

_“Ye turned me bloody beer bottles intae bloody men?!”_

Merasmus either couldn’t or wouldn’t or didn’t hear him. _“You’re all ready! Off you go!”_  
He floated up into the sky. _“Now! You will enjoy yourself at the ball and carry out my revenge plot! And you will return before midnight, definitely not because my magic will wear out then!”_

The wizard disappeared in a burst of green energy.

“What was that about midnight?!” Tavish called, but it was too late. Merasmus was gone.

“Bloody hell…..” he muttered under his breath, not even bothering to acknowledge how one of the horsemen lifted him up from under his armpits like a cat and into the carriage. It set off into the night.

Great. Now Tavish was going to consume everything edible and alcoholic once he got to the ball _and_ strangle the first person who dares talk to him.

_______________________________________________________________________

Jane Doe tugged at his collar for the twentieth time that night. Spy smacked his hand off. “Stop doing that, it will wrinkle.”

“I hate this.”

“So do I, your Majesty, but unfortunately for the time being we will have to sit through this.” Spy checked himself in a pocket mirror, then adjusted Jane’s lapels again.

The guests crowded in the main throne room, which was somehow completely fixed, as if a bear hadn’t just been wrestled to death that morning. The room was filled with quiet chattering and posh outfits milling about. The dancing was over, leaving the dreaded part of the ball.

Queen Helen sat above them all, observing them. Advisor Pauling and Captain Hale stood at either side of her throne, both dressed to the nines while Pauling mentally prepared herself for something bound to go wrong tonight. She even had royal Doctor Ludwig on standby, even though all he did was chatter on with that Russian friend of his. The rest of the court and its lower class members were present as well. Pauling tried to ignore Jeremy’s flirtatious stares up at her.

Jane finally stopped grumbling and stood up straight as Pauling tapped a spoon at the side of a glass. This silenced the room and caught the guests’ attention. She cleared her throat.

“All the young maidens step forward tonight. The prince will see you now.”

They did so excitedly. Pauling shook her head, sighing, as they had no idea what they were going to be getting themselves into. The poor unsuspecting women.

Pauling read out the first name on the guest list, and so on and so on. The girls came forward and curtseyed with full hopes of being married into royalty. The first step towards love would mean a dance, while a polite rejection would mean a bow in return.

Jane ended up bowing through more than half of them. He really was more than a little inexperienced with sophisticated royalty. When taking the trials, his excitement led him to believe that he would be fighting for America if deemed worthy. As a result of giving his all in a test that wasn’t even for the army, Jane became the next heir to the throne by mistake. Although he would give his all for this glorious country, being a prince was kind of uncomfortable.

And now they expected him to just pick a girl on the spot and marry her tonight? Romance really wasn’t the specialty of the violent, tough Jane.

Goddamit. They didn’t even look all that heartbroken by being rejected. At most, the girls looked as if they just lost a beauty contest. Which was basically what this was.

Spy covered up a yawn. Captain Hale’s hands twitched. Pauling waited patiently, and Helen just glared at the display.

In the end, none of the girls were chosen.

Helen sighed and massaged her temples, the first show of emotion throughout the whole night. It was not a good one. Pauling gulped nervously and tapped the side of the glass again to hush the room of disappointed chatter. “Uh, his Majesty the prince has not chosen a suitor, but Queen Helen gives her permission to proceed on with the ball as you wish. To all a good night.”

Spy exhaled sharply through his nose and turned around. Just as he did, he saw Pauling beckoning him over. He rushed up the long steps and proceeded to have a heated discussion with her on the future of the kingdom if the prince wasn’t adequate enough to choose a suitor.

Jane’s shoulders slumped. He really wasn’t interested in any of the girls he didn’t know the names of. What a letdown to America. At that very moment, he just wanted to punch a ferocious animal.

He looked around. His stuck-up French butler and the advisor lady couldn’t hear or see him, could they? The Queen was focusing on their girly talk about whatever, and Saxton had slipped off to nowhere. Jane would go find him and actually enjoy this American ball, dammit.

Jane found himself quietly slipping off the platform and walking to the side of the throne room. The multitude of people prevented him from being seen. He just wanted to find Saxton.

He looked around some more as he walked. Still no sight of the burly man.

Jane grumbled. He slumped against the polished wall. “This party sucks ass.”

“Aye, dunnae know who ye are, lad, but I agree.”

Jane turned to his left and saw a well-dressed man in an eyepatch sip a drink. “The alcohol’s mighty blessed, though.”

“Well, you should be expecting that. It’s American.”

Tavish squinted at the label after pulling the drink from his mouth. “Says here on the bottle it’s French."

“It’s honorary, you maggot!” Jane snapped.

“Whatever ye say.” He rolled his eyes. 

Jane crossed his arms and growled under his breath like an honest-to-god angry dog. The man actually chuckled a little. “Come on now, lad, don’t be like that.”

When he didn’t respond, Tavish’s smile faded. He took a swig awkwardly.

A good bit of silence passed between them.

After a while, Tavish decided to speak up first. If he was going to be decked across the face by this surly-looking man he probably just pissed off, he was going down for an attempt at social decency.

“I’m uh, sorry? Just….had no idea you were that sensitive, lad.”

Jane frowned. “Why do you keep calling me ‘lad’? Isn’t that a British term for ‘baby’?”

“Uh, no. It’s just a Scottish way tae refer tae some. So ye can be polite with total strangers. ...............Now tell me why ye just called me a maggot.”

“It’s an army term I made up.”

“Army?”

The two of them actually ended up having a nice chat. They got to know a bit of each other’s culture, made up or not.

(“Haggis sounds disgusting.”

“Don’t ye dare talk smack to the king o’ puddings, I swear to whatever god is out there I will flip a table if anyone says that about haggis again.”)

Soon, the conversation turned personal, but still grounded to the basics.

(“So yer butler’s a moron?”

“Affirmative! He’s also a wimpy coward! Scared of spiders and stress-wrestle animals! Now what’s your favorite color?"

“The hell is stress-wrestling.”)

Then Jane decided to take the talking outside to the gardens.

Tavish nodded along, thinking on the outdoor peace he had missed out on that night. The gardens sounded great. Jane kept talking about them after all. “Well, let’s bring along some refreshments, then. That’ll certainly make for a fine ol’ time.” He stared down at his now empty bottle.

From his spot against the wall, Jane peeked over the sea of heads in the throne room and into the doors that led to the dining hall. They were left slightly ajar, and his sharp eyes could make out zero bottles on the extended table of rich delicacies.

“We have no alcohol left. So now we can’t drink ourselves to death.” He stated, slumping in disappointment.

Tavish gaped at him. “Isn’t the castle always stuffed tae the brim with booze o’ all sorts? How does half a night of prissy lil’ shits use it all up?”

Jane set his jaw and put his hands on his hips. “Negatory, maggot. Those fancy-pants just drank down all that’s been set out. There’s still gallons, just not out here…”

The Scotsman considered that phrase for a moment, then widened his eye in realization. Both of the men couldn’t help but share a devious grin as they simultaneously thought what the other thought.

Half an hour later, they dashed out of the palace’s kitchen, carrying as much alcohol as they could, laughing like madmen.

“I didn’t know ye were willin’ tae go down that road, lad! This is one hell of a night!”

Jane just laughed some more in reply, pulling Tavish behind a corner to hide from a few guards patrolling the halls.

They were far away from the ball, having the halls to themselves and the guards only. Even though nothing particularly exciting or hilarious happened, it felt great to do something no one in their right mind would ever do. He felt a childlike glee at stealing drinks from the royals’ supplies with a completely willing partner-in-crime.

He snickered and let Jane lead him down some more hallways. They turned this way and that, joking and chatting merrily. Jane pushed open a set of doors. Cool breeze rushed over them, letting their excitement from the booze heist die down, leaving a satisfied happiness that Tavish couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Come on!” Jane tugged him outside. The night went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehhhh so sorry for the Scottish terms I don't know that manyyyy
> 
> Also lots of POV switches


	4. Chapter 4

Tavish wheezed with laughter, slapping the side of his leg. “Oh! Oh, stop it, yer killin’ me!”

The strange patriotic man he’d spent the night with was laughing as well. He wiped tears away from his blue eyes. “Oh, that isn’t the half of it, maggot! That sonuvabitch I was telling you about earlier? The one with the duck lips? He _shows up, and then—“_

Before he could finish, Tavish broke into snorts and giggles again from the previous joke, doubling over into laughter once more. Then the both of them were laughing like immature children, making as much noise as they wanted in the wide gardens without fear of being discovered.

In the midst of their half-drunken joy, Jane wanted to give Tavish a sporting push, but ended up tackling him instead. The both of them fell over. Tavish landed on his back harshly, knocking the wind out of him, inducing a different sort of wheeze. Then he realized the awkward situation he was in.

Jane was on top of Tavish, bottles laying about the grass, and they were behind a rose hedge. 

Time seemed to slow down as this happened, neither of them knowing how to respond. Tavish felt heat rush to his face. _Damn alcohol,_ he thought.

Then Jane panicked and immediately retracted his hands, shooting them like poles up into the air even more awkwardly. “I did not mean for that to happen!” He swallowed after that sentence.

Tavish found his voice and stammered out,” Du– dunnae worry about it.”

They stayed like that for a bit longer. Mixed feelings prevented them from fully parting, instead freezing them there, making them too afraid to do anything in this unfamiliar territory.

Somewhere, a clock tower struck twelve.

Tavish jolted back to reality, remembering that wizard’s words. He bolted upright, accidentally tipping Jane unceremoniously out of his lap.

“I have tae go.”

“What?”

“I – I have tae go! It’s midnight!”

Jane was confused. “The ball goes on till four, m—“

Tavish’s eye darted around for an excuse. “Uh, I want tae meet the prince! Yeah, that’s it! Haven’t seen that lad tonight!”

Now Jane was really confused. He watched helplessly as Tavish got up, gathered his kilt and ran off. “Wait, but can’t you see that I’m the—“

He was gone.

The American prince of Tuefort sat in the grass, surrounded by discarded alcohol bottles. He looked a bit like a deer, staring blankly in this direction and that. What just happened?

__________________________________________________________________________________________

“ _Mon dieu_ , where have you been? We’ve been searching all over for you!”

In the now empty throne room, in front of Pauling and Queen Helen and his godforsaken butler, Jane stood at attention, mind not in the mood. This wasn’t a required military meeting, but his army-mindset made his body pencil-straight by instincts. Captain Hale wasn’t required at the moment, so he was off to do his duties elsewhere.

Jane just grunted. “That’s none of your business, Frenchie! Maybe I like lying in the gardens with half-drunk Englishmen! Got something to say about that?”

Spy opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, processing the information. That was something he had to do a lot ever since Jane set foot in the palace. 

Helen raised an eyebrow. “Do you care to elaborate on that?”

A rare moment came in Jane’s life where he went deep in thought. And kept his mouth shut.

“I just decided to actually enjoy the ball.”

Spy groaned. “ _Merde,_ this is going nowhere. Everything went off track since you could not pick a woman to be your bride for the throne, and now the future of the kingdom is in jeopardy because of you! Then you decide to—“

Once again, important politics this, politics that. The normally composed Frenchman was unhappily telling him off, seemingly more upset than Jane was.

In fact, Jane wasn’t listening to him in the least. His mind kept drifting off to the man he spent the night with. How awkward yet bold he could be. He gladly robbed royalty simply because of a lack of beer, but he still got flustered when an honest accident landed them together on the grass. How his accent and vocabulary sounded. It wasn’t American, but it was still pleasant to listen to. How he carried himself around confidently and held his alcohol just as well.

How nonchalant he was about a missing eyeball and three jobs. How raunchy his humor was, an upbeat attitude constantly being kept up. How he had a sort of dangerous energy when they talked about his project, how he had looked when said dangerous energy was about………

Oh joy. Pauling had decided to join in too.

“—and now you announce it like it’s no big deal! So unless you’re somehow thinking about making that mystery man your suitor, the kingdom of Tuefort will become a republic! You can go ahead and guess how well that will go!”

She sighed and massaged her temples, while Spy huffed and tipped his chin upwards, closing his eyes. Jane scratched his nose.

Wait. What was that Pauling said about a suitor?

Jane scrunched up his forehead, trying to remember a sentence that was spoken less than a minute ago. “Can I really pick up that guy as a date?”

At that, all three people before Jane stopped whatever display of disappointment, frustration and disdain they were doing to stare at him. Pauling inhaled a large bit of air and hesitated, eyes darting to Helen and Spy for assistance. She knew that she said it.

“W-well, you….it’s compl….but….male……”

The advisor was out of advice. She fumbled for words, brain set to overload. Spy was silent, glaring hard at the ground, jaw set. Queen Helen spoke for the second time that morning.

“I can’t stand anymore of this,” she snapped. “I’ll probably be dead of a number of reasons by the next hour, and we have no preparation for the heir in the least. You all just stand here and attempt to stick to traditions that hinder what’s convenient, which is something my rule wants to avoid. Correct? ”

Spy and Pauling stood up straighter by the first word that left her mouth. They listened, feeling worse than ever.

“O-of course, your M-majesty.”

_“Oui, votre Majesté.”_

“I don’t care who he or she or what it is. _The prince has found a suitor. **Get him his fucking suitor and end this nonsense once and for all.** ”_

Spy and Pauling actually gulped simultaneously. Managing a ‘yes, your Majesty’ in their different ways, they ushered Jane out of the throne room. 

He wasn’t really sure what they just talked about, but he guessed from some select keywords that it meant that he would get to see that Englishman again.

Once they got Jane to the far side of the hallways, Spy began to speak to him.

“Alright, now, monsieur. We do not have much time. If you would be coherent enough to give us your……” Spy thought about it, “…..groom-to-be’s name, we will get to his house and have you both together at once.”

Pauling nodded. “Your butler is correct. What does your suitor go by?”

Jane shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“……..what.”

“I didn’t ask for his name. I guess I forgot.”

 _“Ohhhh my—“_ Pauling threw her hands up and fell against the nearest wall, beating it lightly with half-clenched fists in an act of ‘this is awful and I give up now’. Spy groaned out loudly at the same time, dramatically putting a hand to his face while stumbling back a little.

 _“What do you mean you forgot?!”_ Pauling pushed herself off to face Jane in exasperation. _“You – do you remember what he looks like?!”_

“I found a shoe he left behind.”

_“What the heck good does that do?!”_

_____________________________________________________________________________

Tavish was back in his backyard, taking a look at the smashed pumpkin and bottles on the ground. He was back in his comfort clothes and his mum was taking a nap, so he had half the morning to himself.

Wait.

“Why aren’t me shoes turnin’ back?” He also belatedly realized that he only had one.

The question was directed at Merasmus, who was simply chilling in his backyard like he owned the place. His hands were behind his head, his legs were folded and he levitated as if there were a hammock underneath him. That ridiculous animal skull covered his eyes when pushed just slightly in front.

_“Oh, those? I don’t really know how to make shoes all that well, so I borrowed them from a neighbor of mine. A very powerful wizard, like me! I put them on you and now I have to return them by noon, or he will skin my eyeballs himself. You wouldn’t happen to still have both of them? ”_

_______________________________________________________________________________

“This idea is preposterous and a waste of time. It’s idiotic, it’s impractical, it’s—“

Jane cut Spy off before he could say anything else. “I was practically drunk, Frenchie. How can I remember all those features? Besides, I’ve narrowed it down to Englishmen.” 

He went silent.

“He did say something about ‘Scotland’, though. I don’t know.”

Spy was about to protest further, but Pauling grabbed his forearm with surprising strength, looking him dead in the eyes and shaking her head slowly. That was the face of resignation to stupidity. Spy hated that face.

A very, very heavy sigh, one of many previous ones and more to come.

“……I will prepare the carriage for you, _monsieur_. Bring that shoe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I'm not sure how old Helen is in this.
> 
> And italics will be used for emphasized words and different language words. Sorry if there's confusion.


	5. Chapter 5

In the large carriage, Pauling, Spy, Jeremy and Ludwig settled in with Jane. Or, well, crammed in with him, to be precise. Jane had an incredibly well-built figure, and Ludwig was surprisingly fit as well, so it was only by the miracle of the remaining three scrawny passengers that they managed to squeeze in next to each other.

Pauling refused to sit on the same bench as Jeremy. He gave Spy and Jane the stink eye as she turned to go in between them, but was too busy trying to avoid Ludwig as much as possible. The doctor scared him a lot. Ludwig knew this, and purposely gave him an uncomfortable, leering ear-to-ear smile. Jeremy shut up for the rest of the trip.

As the carriage set off with a jolt, Pauling tuned out everything around her to focus on the asinine task at hand. She pulled out a feather pen and went over the list in her hands, folded over so that the miles of paper didn’t take up all of the carriage.

Spy was too busy staring sullenly out the window, wishing for something like, for example, a sort of portable stress-reducing inhaler. He really needed it at the moment. _What would they think of the royal family now, going house to house, rooting up all the men and letting them have a try at a shoe?_ He sighed for the umpteenth time that morning. _This is what you get for agreeing to be a babysitter for a stubborn man-child, mon cheri. Suck it up._

“Alright, first house.”

___________________________________________________________

By late morning, Tavish had his very light hangover mostly dealt with. After ushering Merasmus out of his personal space with blatant lies regarding those apparently very important shoes, Tavish quickly gathered up all the broken bottles on the ground, trying not to cut his hands, dumped them into a crate, dumped said crate into his neighbor’s garden along with what was left of their pumpkin, and went indoors just as his mum called for him again.

“Tavish! Where are ye, lad? Sleeping in the garden, drunk, I should’ve known!” She waved her stick about menacingly, and despite her mannerisms, pushed a tray of freshly-made breakfast into his hands. “And ye were supposed tae cook today.”

“Thanks, mum.” Tavish said. Damn, he really was supposed to be cooking breakfast. 

“Fill yerself up with something other than whiskey, now. One o’ yer bosses are here and I dunnae wannae see ye drag yerself up to him like a sick dog.”

Tavish put the plate down on the table, carefully. His mum didn’t know he was at the ball last night and had eaten a lot already. Plus, she couldn’t see him anyways. “One o’ me bosses?”

He poked his head out of the massive kitchen door frame into the sitting room. A large grin spread across his face. Dell and Pyro were there, having tea. Pyro had brought along their battered unicorn doll and was attempting to feed it sugar lumps. 

When they both noticed him, they waved. Tavish immediately rushed over to them, while his mum shuffled upstairs, grumbling.

“Mornin’, lads! What’re ye both doing here?”

Dell grinned. “Well, everyone’s still drowsy from the ball last night. Pyro and I are fine, though. We left a lil’ early. But who are we to turn down a free holiday? Figured we would take it easy for a bit.”

He paused, looking to be deep in thought. “Hm….just had a….wait.” He fished out a stack of crumpled papers, scribbling down whatever insane idea he suddenly got on one of them.

Pyro giggled, crumbling yet another sugar lump into the unicorn toy’s muzzle. Tavish was still grinning and nodding along to what Dell said, absent-mindedly taking the bowl of out of Pyro’s hands. “That’s great! What d’ye say we go out fer drinks tonight? It’ll be on me!”

Dell was about to agree, but stopped himself. “I’d love to, but there’s somethin’ else goin’ on with politics again. Right now, actually. And I might have a few personal projects to get to.”

Tavish shrugged. “Aye, fair enough. But what d’ye mean by politics?”

Dell really wasn’t sure how to tell him. “Uh, you see, partner….” He rubbed the back of his head. “Shoot, you weren’t at the ball, were ya? How should I go about this….?”

Pyro gently nudged his arm and whisper-mumbled some things into his ear. Then the inventor sighed, deciding to take his friend’s advice and tell it straight. Tavish was trying very hard not to tell him the truth.

“Ya see, Tav. The prince was a right loon, he was. Didn’t choose a single girl for himself, then disappears off his post to god knows where! And now he’s goin’ around tryin’ to find a man he got drunk with last night by getting men to try on a shoe.” He shifted uncomfortably. “On our way here, I was one of them folks. I wish I was lying, but I have never been more glad to have an abnormal foot size.”

Tavish nodded along and smiled. “Mmhm, mmhm, an’…..what are they going tae do with this mystery laddie?”

“Somethin’ about a suitor. Marriage into royalty.”

Tavish was still nodding. “Mmhm. Yeah, could ye both excuse me fer juuuuust a second? Dell? Pyro? That’s great, lads, I’ll be back soon.”

He pushed off the table and stumbled out of his seat, knocking over his chair and the thankfully now-empty cups of tea and sugar, scrambling up the stairs. A door slam was heard. This left Dell and Pyro both staring after him awkwardly.

“Uh, was it somethin’ I said?”

“Mmmfph hmfh nmmphfh.”

Suddenly, there were three sharp knocks on the front door. A faint groan echoed down the stairs.

“For Christ’s sake!”

Dell and Pyro stayed put. The knocking on the front door grew a tad urgent, increasing in speed impatiently. 

Eventually, Dell stood up and strode over.

_________________________________________________________________

When Tavish had dashed up the stairs, he was in a panic.

The man he had drunk with was the prince. The man he had restrained from punching when he started talking was the bloody heir to Tuefort’s throne. And now he was looking for him. 

No way in hell were they serious about the marriage bit. The prince couldn’t have a male ruler by his side! No, this was a ruse to root him out and give the deserved punishment. 

And that thing he did with the beer theft must’ve been some kind of test to see if a peasant like him was actually going to steal from royalty.

Tavish closed all the curtains, thoughts running through his mind a mile a minute. Or maybe this was some elaborate prank Dell was playing on him. Yeah, that was it. Pyro must’ve convinced him. Dell’s not the type.

He stopped pacing around the room, which he didn’t even realize he was doing, and thought of something awful. What if it wasn’t a prank? That would actually be worse. What would happen to him and his mum? What if everything he had worked his spine off for in his life would be taken away? What would the few friends he had think of him? Worst-case scenarios reared one ugly head after another, setting off his frantic pacing and muttering again. 

To think that he had behaved so stupidly in front of the future king.

He sat down on his bed. The morning was supposed to be normal. Everything was supposed to go back to normal after the night of magic, literal or not. He wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place. _Magic, literal or not……_

He found himself thinking back to the man, _no, prince, watch your thoughts Tavish;_ he spent time with last night. His humor, his boldness, his random outbursts, how he would hide his face every time he got flustered, his surprisingly calm mannerisms when he wasn’t talking happily about guts and glory, his questionable motivations, his adorable entusiasim, how well he could hold his beer, almost as good as Tavish could……. If he wasn’t the prince, Tavish would’ve thought that being in his presence was the most natural thing in the world.

 _Or maybe if you spent more time with other fuckin’ human beings, you wouldn’t be throwing yerself at every braw ye see like some kind o’ two-bit whore,_ he thought. _Ye even almost tried tae shag poor Dell when ye first met him. Alcohol was barely the excuse. Buftie._

Seeing the prince again wouldn’t be that bad. But he just couldn’t bear to see the disappointment and discontentment on everyone’s faces if that ever happened.

Tavish scoffed at himself. _‘I have tae meet the prince.’ Yer dumber than-_

The knocking on the front door was getting louder and harsher. Tavish stiffened when he heard the creaking of the hinges echo up the stairs, and heard people shuffle in.

“For Christ’s sake!” he groaned out loudly. Thank god his mum was sound asleep.

This was just not his day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh this is weird

Tavish fought against the urge to rush out then and there to see the scene, or more specifically the prince again. He heard muffled talking and his panic rose.

He had so many questions as to why they didn’t remember him at all. He was the only black man in town goddamit, with a missing eye to boot. How did they need a fucking shoe to recognize him?

He stood in the middle of his room, listening to the ensuing muffled speech from downstairs and the faint bird chirping outside. Golden sunlight rays peeked through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a flattering display on his unflattering messy desk, which was covered in thick, musty books of all kinds, open and closed. An ink pot sat in the corner of the table, blotches all around it and a feather pen still stuck in the murky blackness. 

Tavish wanted to be that ink pot. He felt like it all right, dark and unfitting, in the corner of the space away from the sunny crowds. The late morning was probably beautiful outside. Maybe he could slip out his balcony unnoticed? Would that just earn him more trouble than before?

A different sort of muffle sounded out through the mumble arguing downstairs. Tavish stiffened. No. A good lot of the hierarchy was in his own house. He would go down, accept the consequences for his actions. At least he would to see the prince one more time before he was arrested.

So, Tavish squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. His mind was made up.

He crept down the stairs as if they were made of eggshells. He watched the scene in the living room a bit ways up. No one had noticed him yet.

Dell was not having an okay time right now. He was constantly fidgeting with his hat in his hands and he was sweating profusely, also gulping a lot. There were so many people in the room.

The woman in purple was sharp with her questions, an air of superiority constantly surrounding her. Dell was positive that she knew he was lying. Pyro didn’t have an expression to worry about; they had a damn mask on.

The strange man in the mask was peering at them judgmentally, a constant look of condescendence with a slightly upturned nose that just spelled ‘asshole’ around him. “There can’t possibly be a way that this ‘humble abode’ belongs to you and your masked friend here, monsieur laborer. I would think that you are simply guests. I can see every bit of untruthfulness in your eyes.”

Pauling tapped her feather pen at the side of her paper. “This is the last house, Mr. Conagher and Mr.….Pyro.” A small huff that could be a laugh or a sound of offense made its way out of the masked person’s mouth area. It was ignored either ways. “We’ve checked yours off the list when you told us that you were just on your way somewhere.”

“W-well, clearly, we were on our way…back home. And….here we are…?” Dell was a terrible liar. Even the people whom he just met knew that. Despite his intellect, he still couldn’t form a coherent story in front of a few important people.

He had no idea what in Sam’s Hill was going on at the moment. Judging by Tavish’s earlier reaction to the situation, he was pretty sure that it was personal. Dell wasn’t a prying type, but he’d be damned if anything hurt one of his best pals.

Pauling glared at him. “Let me finish, Mr. Conagher. What I’m trying to say is, this can’t be your house because we’ve already crossed yours off the list. We’re here at the last house which belongs to the Degroots. And I don’t think that you or your friend here has enough money to buy a house this large from a small work shop job. And your last name doesn’t match the residence.”

Dell gulped again. All the eyes were on him now. Pyro stood a bit closer to him in defense.

Somewhere at the back of the crowd, Jane snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah, he was black. And he had an eye patch.”

Immediately, Pauling and Spy were on him.

_“Do you realize how useful this information could’ve been hours ago?!”_

_“You’ve wasted a whole morning!”_

_“I can’t believe how you only just remembered that!”_

_“You could’ve saved so much of our time!”_

In a moment of panic, Tavish rushed down the rest of the stairs. “Wait! Wait! I’m the one yer lookin’ for! Don’t give him anymore trouble!” Immediately, he wished he hadn’t done anything.

The room, with its high ceilings and its spacious area only broken here and there by furniture, was filled with frozen tension. Everyone’s attention had snapped onto him in an instant. The fireplace crackled awkwardly at the far end of the room. For a moment, nothing happened, and nothing continued to happen after that.

Tavish stood, frozen in his position. He cleared his throat. “Um, here.”

 

He set the shoe down in the center of the room, then almost died of a heart attack when Merasmus exploded into existence in front of everyone. 

_“A-ha! I knew it! You’ve been using that very shoe to get the love of your life to come to you! But I’ll be having that back now. You sly mortal, do you know what you’ve almost got me into?”_ he gestured to Jane, who was staring absentmindedly at him as if trying to remember who this man was. _“You’re lucky I adore homosapien chemistry so much! Otherwise you’d be sent to the dimension of screaming ducks on my behalf, but let’s focus on the positive here.”_

Jane and Tavish were pushed a little closer towards each other, engulfed in green levitation magic. _“Now, you two shall be wed at once! Don’t ask me why I’m interested in getting you both together all of a sudden!”_

Tavish was very uncomfortable. “Wed?”

Jane wasn’t that against the idea, but he was just as confused. Besides, if the Scotsman didn’t want to then they didn’t have to do it. “I dunno.”

“Maybe later.”

“Yeah, seconded. That’s a bit early..”

“Yeah. You think we could just..?”

“I can wait.”

“Okay. Great. Good. Thank you.”

“Let’s just actually spend more time together, I guess.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Merasmus pulled out an antique pocket watch, with its crooked amber hands spinning in all directions on symbols only he could read, and threw his hands up in the air. He spoke with all the enthusiasm and cheerfulness of a child on Christmas morning.

“Wonderful! Fantastic! Accompany your new-found soulmate to the palace, and we shall continue on from there! Hopefully the wizard who I owe the shoes don’t come after me if I acquaint myself with another mortal guardian job!” 

To avoid any further trouble, Tavish was led outside by Jane, relieved and content and very, very shaken by all the day’s events. By god he needed a drink.

“So, prince, eh?” 

Jane shrugged. “That’s what I’m supposed to be, probably.” 

Tavish only nodded.

Jane noticed. He narrowed his eyes a little. “You aren’t going to act like I’m ‘higher than you’ here on out, are you, maggot?”

Tavish laughed and shook his head. “What? Now yer just flatterin’ yerself, lad. I wouldn’t do that tae ye.” Oh god please don’t able tae read minds I was actually going tae do just that oh help. “I actually just wanted tae ask ye out fer a drink. The bars here are a right hoot, I’m tellin’ ye.”

Jane pumped his fists in the air. “Yes! Finally! Beer!” He clapped Tavish on the back and took his hands after that. A few passersby stared. “I accept, you perfect excuse of a soldier!   
Let’s go!”

They walked off together under the evening sun with an offhanded reminder to the people in the house, and had a great time getting drunk again. Happily ever after.

The end.

Meanwhile Dell was lying on the sofa contemplating life with an adorable Pyro petting his shoulder and a very unhelpful Dr. Ludwig by his side. Jeremy was eating the sugar cubes and poorly explaining what had just happened to Mrs. Degroot. Merasmus was attempting conversation with Pauling, who had joined Spy in realizing the gravity of the pure absurdity of their lives and downing bottle after bottle of alcohol.

Joy and rainbows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ive finally finished this. yay. A half-assed chapter completed. Sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy here we go. Also, quick tip. If the romance or story progression seems rushed, I'll be using Cinderella as an excuse. I'm just that lazy. I can't write development all that well so I figured that a story where a guy marries a girl he just met over a shoe would be the best AU to make for Tf2.
> 
> Oh wow that rhymed


End file.
